


In the Light

by ShopboughtCoke (HomemadeLemonade)



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, Hope for S6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-08-31 09:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomemadeLemonade/pseuds/ShopboughtCoke
Summary: Vignettes forming a sequel to The Friendship Gate.





	1. Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> For those who asked for more light in the current darkness ♥

She heard the gate click open and closed, but pretended not to notice as her daughter hid between the bed sheets hanging on the makeshift washing line in the pale winter sunlight. She made a show of looking for her behind the trees and the woodpile, ignoring her giggles all the while. 

When she eventually "discovered" her, she noticed a feather tucked into her ponytail. She pulled it out and regarded it quizzically. 

It hadn't been there earlier when the child had skipped through the gate for their regular game of I Spy. Today they were up to the letter F. Apparently he hadn't gone for the obvious, rather he'd spied the feather and then made her a gift of it. He'd told her it was from an owl that visited most nights after dark. When she said she'd never seen one, he'd offered to show it to her, if she was allowed to stay up a little later one night.

She beheld the quiet hope on her daughter's face and felt her heart swell with the same emotion. She nodded, carefully slipping the feather back into her hair and caressing her cheek. She stepped back and smiled as the child hurried through the gate to share her excitement with him. 

 


	2. Torchlight

She hugged herself in the cold on the small back porch. She'd walked her daughter to the gate half an hour ago and found him waiting for her. His torch was trained on the ground so the child wouldn't miss her step in the dark. He'd extended his bare hand and grasped her mittened one, leading her to the bench behind his cabin where he sometimes passed the night when sleep eluded him. 

The light vanished once the child was seated and she imagined him taking up a spot beside her, an arm at her back, warm and reassuring, as they settled in to wait.

She felt the draught of wings beating past her en route to one of the trees beyond the fence, and smiled a moment later at her daughter's muffled squeal of delight. Soon after, the beam reappeared as they eased closer to the object of the child's curiosity. 

He doused the light once they'd found a suitable vantage point. A few minutes passed in silence. Then she felt the breeze from the owl's return flight.

The torch shone again, illuminating a path to the gate. She met them there and the child reached for her hand before letting go of his, bridging the divide for a moment. He gave her small hand a final squeeze and remained there just long enough to light their way back to the porch. 


	3. Twilight

Her daughter had spent the afternoon at the window, watching the powder fall, then asked if she could make snow angels before supper. She'd readily agreed, knowing she could warm her up afterwards with a shower, fresh pyjamas and a bowl of pumpkin soup. Of course, it hadn't ended there.

First, the child wanted to be photographed making an angel. She'd dutifully captured the shot, then carefully helped her up before taking another snap of the angelic form in the pristine snow. 

Then the child asked if they could make a pair of angels together. She'd pocketed the phone and they'd lain down, her daughter whooping with excitement. Before she realised what was happening though, her daughter had leapt up and raced through the gate. She'd closed her eyes, only opening them when she heard him following the child back. He'd stooped, amusement playing at the edges of his mouth, his hand outstretched for her phone.

She smiled despite herself as she moved her arms and legs in the snow. He took his time checking the picture before he stretched out his hand again, this time to help her up, his eyes dark in the fading light. He returned the phone, tweaked the pompom on the child's beanie and disappeared through the gate.

She was dimly aware of her daughter hopping from one foot to the other, impatient for her to photograph the angels they'd made, as she stared down at her phone and saw he'd sent himself a copy of their picture. She looked over as he reached his cabin and glanced back, a small smile at his lips.


	4. Starlight

She enjoyed the ritual of spending a couple of hours on her daughter's lessons each afternoon. She was grateful for the way it anchored their day and helped her feel she was achieving something. Today they were reading about day and night, sun and moon, clouds and stars. The suggested activity was to go outside and look for certain stars in the night sky. Even as she read the words, she knew her daughter would invite him to join them.

They stood together under the inky infinity, staring up at pinpricks of light from the heavens the other side. She thought of a different night under the stars, the promise it had offered, the desolation that had followed. She wondered if he was reminded of it too.

She watched as he busied himself with the child's map of the constellations, helping her orient it using the brightest stars as her reference, just like the explorers and travellers her father had whispered of while doing the same thing with her at a different cabin, in a different time.

She didn't need the map to show her daughter the three stars of Orion's belt. She didn't bother to mention Taurus looming over them nearby.

When she saw the shooting star though, she dropped to her knees to point it out to the child, and they closed their eyes to make a wish. She didn't see the child open one eye and give a secret smile when she saw his face turned skyward, his own eyes closed.


	5. Firelight

She stirred the pot on the stove, then carefully held her hand under the spoon as she lifted it to her lips, checking the soup was heated through. She didn't notice him watching from a seat at the table while her daughter showed him her drawing of their stargazing adventure.

The child had wanted him to see her recent masterpieces, and when the snow started falling, insisted he stay for supper and a game of Snap in front of the fire.

She felt a quiet joy as she spooned soup into the third bowl. She smiled when she transferred their meals to the table and saw their heads bent together over a crayon rendering of an owl. When she returned with her own bowl, she found they'd cleared away the pictures and were waiting for her.

She rinsed the dishes after, watching as he helped her daughter deal three hands of Snap while they waited for her again. She felt the same quiet joy when she realised he was carefully letting the child win. Their cheeks glowed in the light of the fire and she wondered if it was the warmth of the soup or the fun of the game.

At her daughter's gasp she realised there was a pair on the table and moved quickly to claim it, a fraction of a second before he did. When his hand lingered over hers a moment longer than necessary, her own cheeks began to glow and she felt the quiet joy again.


	6. Moonlight

Her daughter watched as he trudged through the gate after supper and games. The snow was still heavy and the child had worried about him walking back, suggesting even as he was shrugging on his coat that he could take her sofa bed while she shared with Mommy.

She knew her daughter was tired so she gently suggested she change into her pyjamas. She busied herself making up the bed, smiling at the loud gargling as the child rinsed after brushing her teeth. She twisted a soft curl behind an ear as she tucked her into the cocoon of blankets and kissed her forehead.

She hadn't even switched off the light when they heard it, her daughter leaping out of bed before she could beg her to wait. The snow was still falling but there was no mistaking his cabin, or what was left of it, collapsed under the weight of the snow on its roof, silent and still under the moon. They froze on the porch, transfixed, the child's scream shattering the night. 

She tried to swallow her own fear and grief, agonising over how to comfort her sobbing daughter while she investigated and called for help, when suddenly the gate burst open and he swiftly closed the distance between them. The child broke loose from her grasp and flung herself on him. She watched as he carefully lifted her to his chest and pressed his forehead to hers. The child still clung to him as they went inside, refusing to be settled back into her bed, so she tentatively took his arm and led them to her own.

She watched as he lay on his side with the child nestled against him, her tears slowing now, the bed illuminated by a shaft of moonlight from the dormer above. She lay behind her daughter, rubbing her back and pulling the comforter over the three of them. She felt the child's breathing even out as exhaustion overcame her and sleep descended. 

She gave in at last to the emotions welling in her own chest, heaving a silent sob and feeling a warm trickle down her cheek. She gulped as he tenderly pressed a finger to her lips, then found her hand and clasped it, guiding it to a position on the child's side, where he could hold them both as night turned slowly to day.


	7. Daylight

She woke as the first silvery streaks of daylight peeked through the cabin windows. Her daughter had turned over at some point and was nestled against her neck, all soft curls and warm breath. She wasn't surprised to find he was gone, that he'd somehow slipped away without disturbing them, but she still felt a dull ache in her chest.

She pressed her nose to the top of her daughter's head and inhaled gently, savouring the calm and the closeness the moment offered, lest it was her ration for the day. Thus fortified, she carefully disentangled herself from the child's grasp, ready to face the morning.

She noticed a scraping sound that became fractionally louder as she made her way to the kitchen. Through the window she spied him - shovelling snow from behind her car, his breath a haze in the frigid air. She shook her head and smiled, relieved that he hadn't vanished altogether, unsurprised that he was channelling his energy into some sort of exit plan.

She began preparing a breakfast of pancakes, coffee and hot chocolate, while casually monitoring his progress. She was lifting the bacon to drain on some paper towel when her daughter stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes, demanding to know where he was. She hoisted her to her hip so she could see for herself and didn't even try to suppress her smile when the child rapped on the glass and summoned him inside.

Her careful nonchalance as she placed the serving dishes in the centre of the table was undermined by her daughter's stage whisper to him that they usually only had pancakes on Sundays. She took her seat, cheeks reddened, and risked a glance at him, registering amusement and affection in his gaze.

After breakfast, the child pushed back her chair and beetled away from the table. She enjoyed his proximity as they cleaned up the kitchen together, exchanging quizzical looks at the sound of drawers and cupboards opening and closing in the bedroom. Soon her daughter reappeared, fully dressed, towing a small, pink roll-along suitcase, and struggling under the weight of a softened leather weekender slung over one shoulder. The child beamed when she moved to take the weekender, pleased her mother was apparently following her lead.

She absently shouldered the bag, watching with a mixture of pride and wonder as the child smiled up at him and offered him her free hand. She saw his eyes redden as he drew her daughter to him, kissing the top of her head and inhaling deeply for a moment, before taking the child's hand. She blinked back her own eyes tears when he didn't resist her taking his other hand, and allowed them to lead him to the car.


	8. Lamplight

When they'd first arrived home, her daughter had scampered up the stairs of the brownstone, checking over her shoulder that he was following. She'd watched in amusement as the child gave him the tour, visibly pleased that he smiled and nodded at the right times.

She began unpacking their bags, crisscrossing between bedrooms and bathroom as she put things away and filled the laundry hamper. At some point, she noticed a set of sheets on the sofa and wondered who'd placed them there. Had her daughter assumed he'd be sleeping on the sofa? Had he?

She thought about starting a load of laundry, calling work, school, the nanny. There seemed a lot to do, but the sound of the child's tinkling laughter made her realise that whatever was happening in the living room was more important.

She found they'd used the sheets to fashion a fort between the sofa and dining chairs. She could make out their forms inside and a strange flickering that seemed to be the reason for the laughter. She lifted the edge of a sheet and crawled in to join them, smiling at her daughter's flushed cheeks and his tousled hair.

They'd dragged in the lamp from the end table and were sitting on scatter cushions they'd pilfered from the sofa, using their hands to make shadows puppets in the lamplight. She joined him in applauding the child's snail and laughed with her daughter at his horse and rider. Then she realised they were looking expectantly at her.

She tilted her head as she pondered what shape to make. She lifted one hand and used her fingers and thumb to approximate a bird's head, turning it from side to side. She brought her other hand up to her arm, vaguely recalling there was a way to make a swan. She felt herself warming under his gaze as he lent in and gently separated her fingers to create the illusion of feathers. Her daughter was mesmerised by the intricate silhouette and insisted they each make a swan. She felt a lump in her throat as she watched the family of three gliding across the smooth waters of the fort. 

 


	9. Candlelight

He returned from putting the child to bed, enjoying the strange fullness in his heart after giving in gladly to her pleading for one more story, one more precious cuddle.

He saw she'd lit the candle on her nightstand and was huddled on the bed beside it, an arm around her knees. She gave him a wry smile over the tear-stained, oft-read pages in her hand.

He took them from her and let them flutter down beside the candle. He noticed how its glow magnified the devotion and longing in her eyes. He drew her to lie with him and began to love her with a silent, gentle ardour that showed her he believed in angels now, and salvation, and redemption. He'd left the darkness to embrace light and love in all its forms.

When she made to cry out he pressed his finger to her lips as he had done in the moonlight and stilled, savouring the intensity of her peak as he reached his own.

After, he stroked her hair as she lay on his chest, watching as he reached for the letter. He weighed it in his hand for a moment before touching a corner to the candle's flame. He held it carefully as it burned and shadows danced at the edges of the room.

As its ashes drifted to the floor, he reflected that while he'd always been hers, somehow, between the darkness and the light, she'd become his.

 


End file.
